A Christmas Case
by i-Don't-Count
Summary: Children go to take their picture with Santa all the time, it isn't until some of them begin to go missing that Sherlock Holmes begins to investigate.
1. Cigarettes and Coffee

I thought I'd write a short little Sherlolly fanfiction for the upcoming holidays. I'm super excited for Christmas and this is one way to celebrate! I hope you enjoy and do feel free to leave a review! I always appreciate feedback.

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Sherlock Holmes loomed behind Molly Hooper as she worked over a dead body at Bart's mortuary. _Lucky _he thought. _She has something to do._ He leaned against the wall and just continued to watch her work. He had already discovered the body's cause of death but the five-or-so-seconds of deductions hardly cut it out for him. He was addict and his drug was complicated problems that took thought. He was one of the greatest minds of the 21st century, it was only normal he craved things that made his mind work. The normal mundane tasks of everyday life were tedious, boring and much too ordinary for the world's only consulting detective. He needed something _so much more,_ which is why it frustrated him when there were no calls from Detective Inspector Lestrade alerting him of another case Scotland Yard was too daft to solve on their own. Which is why it pleased him so when a serial killer, or a robber, or a murderer, or a kidnapper came up, because it was just so much more interesting than all the things ordinary people fill their days doing.

Molly Hooper moved over to the other side of the table so that her back was no longer facing him. She was still so concentrated that she hadn't noticed she had an audience. Minutes passed before Molly finally glanced up, she screamed when she noticed the tall figure leaning in the corner. A loud clang broke the almost quiet they sat in before as she jumped back and knocked over a tray of metal instruments she had been previously using. Immediately the small mousey girl flushed an alarming shade of red. "Sorry, I didn't – I didn't um notice you there, Sherlock. Ho-how long have you been standing there?" She asked making eye contact with the dead man on the table more than the man in front of her.

"Not too long." Sherlock replied with a small smile.

Molly melted at the sight of his smile. "Do-do you want to um see a body or something?"

"No, Molly. I haven't had a case for a day now. My mind can't stand it. I came to look at the bodies you work on and deduce the cause of death."

"Couldn't you and John find something to do?"

"He's out of town." Sherlock said flatly.

"Oh. Well – uh, I suppose you can just stay there then." Molly started. "Would you like some coffee or something?"

"Yes, that'd be lovely bla-"

"Black, two sugars. I know." Molly said turning to leave.

Just before she left the room, shedding her gloves in the garbage and sanitizing her hands Sherlock spoke again. "Asphyxiation. As there are no bruises on his body, probably smothered in his sleep by something like a pillow."

"Oh. You-you figured it out?" Molly asked turning back to him.

"About twenty minutes ago, Molly."

OoOoOo

Sherlock Holmes took a sip from the coffee Molly had gotten him. It always amazed him at how she managed to make him a perfect cup every time. When John made him coffee it would take him about five or six tries before he finally got it right. _I mean how hard can it be? _Sherlock wondered. He watched with a hawk-like gaze as Molly finished writing her report and cleaned up the body. Until she finally wheeled it out of the room and returned with a mug of coffee for herself. _Two creams, no sugar_ Sherlock recited. Then he wondered if she knew he had memorized her coffee order as well.

"Anymore on your list?" Sherlock asked, eager like a child.

"Um, no the-there isn't Sherlock, sorry."

They sat in silence for a few moments before Sherlock erupted in frustration. "Ugh! Why haven't there been any new cases! I need a new case. Or a cigarette, I need a cigarette at least."

Because while Sherlock Holmes was an addict of solving puzzles, when his poison of choice wasn't available to him he resorted to the next best thing: smoking. It soothed his mind for a little while, a mind rapidly spinning out of control.

"No." Molly said as firmly as she could muster. "I'll ring John and tell him what you're doing. You've been off the cigarettes for months now."

Sherlock was alarmed at this sudden ferocity in Molly. As she was usually stumbling on not only her feet when she was around him, but also her words. She was quick to please him and happy to do his bidding. But then again, Sherlock couldn't quite admit that he didn't enjoy her laying down the law. "Why does it matter to you if I smoke?" He snapped.

Molly's eyes filled with tears for a moment and she finally made eye contact, looking into his piercingly blue eyes. Sherlock already regretted saying it. Either because he didn't like seeing her so hurt or because now he'd be forced to listen to whatever was on her mind. _Most likely the latter, _he thought to himself. She spoke, "My dad smoked all his life, Sherlock. Constantly had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and he thought he'd live forever. He didn't think they'd do anything because all he thought about was how good it made him feel when he lit up a cigarette and inhaled. He got lung cancer … and he died. The cigarettes Sherlock, they took him away from me. And I don't want them to take you away from me either."

She broke and tears were now falling down her cheeks and sobs escaped her. Sherlock stood there awkwardly looking around unsure of what to do next. He hadn't found himself alone with a crying woman very often. He immediately thought of what John would do, though disagreeing with his best friend he reached out and put a hand on her back. She looked up at him, shocked at his action. But instead of questioning it she buried her face in his chest and quietly sobbed against him. He wrapped his long arms around her petite frame and held her close. He could feel her shaking with tears. "I won't smoke the cigarette." He said quietly to her and Sherlock took his emergency pack out of his coat pocket and threw them in the bin. She smiled up at him and Sherlock decided to flee the scene before he'd be forced to comfort her again. Women were not his forte.

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A/N: So what do you guys think? It'll start getting Christmassy soon. I plan to update weekly, but that might not happen because of school and stuff. I also hoep I finish it by New Years. Anyway, hope you guys liked it and leave a review!


	2. John Watson Returns

Thanks to all of you for reading. Special thanks goes out to:

MisplacedHyperQuill, whovian-all-over, Inaieu, Zora Arian, bookwormtsb, Rocking the Redhead, Empress of Verace, magicstrikes and MordbidbyDefault

Thanks so much for the kind words and the reviews. You're all lovely. Hope you like the next chapter!

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"Have you moved since I left?" John Watson exclaimed upon entering 221B again. The man slumped over in his usual chair dressed in his blue housecoat said nothing in return. The flat was in complete disarray, chemicals littered the kitchen table, the contents of their bookshelf lay strewn across the floor, and the fridge door hung open on its hinges. "For God's sake, Sherlock." John looked inside the fridge, pulling out all the food that had gone rotten in the past few days. "Would it have killed you to tidy up after yourself?"

Sherlock only looked up at him before slumping back down. "John, I've haven't had a case in three days." The irritation in his voice was evident.

"Couldn't you have gone to Bart's to occupy yourself instead of taking out your frustration on the flat?" John shot back at him.

"Can't. I think I upset Molly." Sherlock replied rather absent-mindedly, his eyes locked on something across the room.

John located what Sherlock was staring so intently. "Sherlock, have you started again?"

"Can't." John glanced over at him. Three days without a case and three days without using a vice. That was strange for Sherlock. Usually he breaks down. John gave his disheveled friend a sympathetic look.

"Something will come up."

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The nip in the air that December brought snuck its way into the wind. Of all the places Sherlock Holmes would not like to be John had managed to drag him along on the worst. The world's only consulting detective found himself in the middle of a busy store. Sulking beside an army doctor pushing a cart full of Christmas decorations. The sound was getting to him. He couldn't focus here. His mind honed in on too many things all at once. The Christmas carol playing on the speakers that had come on three times since they arrived. The problems of the old lady down the aisle deciding on blue or silver ribbon. The couple two aisles over arguing over which colour of lights to buy. The children screaming and begging their parent's to buy them yet another pointless toy they didn't need. The faces passing, so many all at once, blurring in Sherlock's mind palace. "John. I need to go."

"No, Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson wanted us to the shopping together."

"This is tedious." He spat out before continuing to sulk.

"Which do you think? These blue ornaments or the gold?" John asked his friend to taunt him more.

Sherlock shot him a look full of daggers and stalked off down the aisle. "Now where's he gone off to?" John thought to himself.

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Sherlock Holmes paid the cabbie and stepped up to door of 221 Baker Street. His head still pounded with the over-stimulation it was bombarded with at the shop. He craved a cigarette more than anything now. As he put his key into the lock he noticed an envelope shoved hastily under the door. He bent down to grab it and carefully ripped open the top. His nimble fingers pulled out the contents of the letter. A small smile slowly crept onto his face. He would no longer need those cigarettes. _The game was afoot._

__OoOoOo

A/N: Hope you guys liked it. The plot thickens. I wonder if any of you can guess what's inside? Please review, I love to hear what you think.


	3. The Game is Afoot

_Thanks for all the lovely reviews! Special thanks to: _

_Empress of Verace, Zora Arian, MisplacedHyperQuill, ShareBearTheDeathBear, magicstrikes and videogamelover221  
_

_Most of you guessed Moriarty which I assumed. Of course, I didn't expect anyone to get it I just wanted to hear what you guys thought. (and I thought it would be kind of fun) Although Empress of Verace, I really loved your idea! _

_Anyway, enough of my babbling. Hope you enjoy this chapter!_

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John Watson stumbled into 221B Baker Street with bags full of shopping hanging off his limbs. "Sherlock, where the hell did you take off to?" John said rather pointedly to his friend.

Sherlock did not acknowledge the remark. He stared fixedly at something in front of him. "Sherlock, for God's sake, are those the damn cigarettes?" John came up behind him and stopped. "What?" Was all he could manage. He noticed the torn open envelope placed carefully on top of the table along with the picture of a toothy grin given by a happy child. Moments of silence passed between the two before Sherlock spoke.

"I don't know." It came out of his mouth quickly but the frustration in his voice was more than evident. John glanced from the picture to Sherlock who sat hunched over on the table, resting his hands in front of his mouth. With a quick movement he reached for his phone.

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Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade was working late that night. _Damn these cases. _He thought to himself. He threw back the last cold sips of coffee that remained in his mug. _God, I'm going to need another. _He glanced at the portrait on the corner of his desk, his wife and him looked so happy on their wedding day. Greg tried to remember the last time they smiled like that but nothing surfaced. His phone lit up and caught his attention, "Hello?" He answered.

"Have you had any missing persons reports?" The deep voice on the other line asked.

"Why Sherlock, got a hankering?" Lestrade said sarcastically before continuing. "But as a matter of fact I do. How did you –"

"I'll explain later."

The line cut out.

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"Wait, so let me get this right." Greg looked at the picture in his hands with pure shock. "You got this on your doorstep tonight the same day this kid goes missing."

"It would seem so." Sherlock replied annoyed with Lestrade's inability to understand.

"And you assumed he went missing?"

Sherlock only rolled his eyes and didn't reply. He was here to get information, He wanted to get moving. More than anything he _needed _the thrill of the chase. Watson was the first to pick up on Sherlock's impatience. "Why don't we go over the evidence, then?"

Flicking open a file with his fingers Lestrade read off. "Henry Williams, went missing on the first of December, 2012 at approximately 3:40 this afternoon. He was reported to have gone missing under the eyes of around 30 people."

"Where was he?" Sherlock asked trying to dig into the information at a faster pace than Lestrade was giving it out.

"He was at one of those Santa displays in the mall, you know, where the children say what they want for Christmas."

"Yes."

"All those present have been brought in for questioning but none of them have admitted to seeing anything. His parents didn't even see it. They're distraught, as you can imagine."

"So a child goes missing in the middle of the day under not only the watchful eyes of not only his parents but under the eyes of many. No one sees, no one knows anything. The perfect abduction."

"Sherlock." John intervened. It always bothered him when Sherlock seemed excited about how a criminal executed his wrongful acts. It made him seem guilty and John didn't want his best friend to be suspected.

"I'll need to talk to the parents of course." Sherlock concluded.

"I don't know if that's the best idea." Lestrade answered.

A confused look spread across Sherlock's face, "Sorry?"

"They've lost their child. I'm not about to subject them to a heartless, apathetic sociopath."

"But it'll help find their son."

"Sherlock, no."

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The sun arose the next morning and John awoke to find a particularly busy Sherlock already connecting the information as he had already acquired. A complicated web of ribbon and string formed across the wall. "I talked to his parents. Got information." Sherlock said absentmindedly, the words seemed more directed to the room than to the army doctor behind him.

"God, what did you do?"

"Nothing. I am remarkably good at pretending to not be a heartless, apathetic sociopath, as Lestrade likes to put it." He now turned to face his friend. "Get changed. We're going to the mall."

"Going to the shopping mall after you left me in the store. I don't think so." John said opening the fridge looking for a bit of breakfast.

"But John, how would you blog about if you aren't there?" Sherlock responded putting on the biggest smile he could manage, which was really no more than a small grin. John looked at his friend. He knew that Sherlock could manage perfectly well without him there. In fact Sherlock would probably do better without him slowing down his mind. Finally something more human arose out of the icy façade, the need of companionship. Sherlock wanted company and that John could never turn down.

"Fine, I'll get changed and then we can go."

As John Watson got dressed the thought occurred to him that Sherlock's human side was merely a well-played maneuver to convince him to come.

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"Do you see him?" Sherlock asked John under his breath.

"Sorry, who?"

"Santa Claus, John."

"Wait?" John started confused, "You think that the Santa did it, of all people, jolly old St. Nick is stealing kids from their parents."

"John think." Sherlock spat out from his impatience and frustration. "Everyone in this area at the time have no idea what happened. The last place he was seen was on the lap of that man. Why do I have to keep reminding you that once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

"Oh God." John replied his eyes flickered up and down the line of children that stretched for hours. His heart sank; any one of them could be at risk. Helplessly he looked at his friend whose features were like stone, impossible to read.

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"Sherlock what the hell are you doing?" John yelled across the flat when he smelled the cigarette.

"My mind is too cluttered, I need to clear it." Sherlock said calmly taking another long drag of the cigarette.

"Not like that you aren't" John stalked over and pulled it from his hands.

"I need it, John."

"Oh no you don't. What have you found out? Clear your mind out on me."

Sherlock locked eyes with John for a split second before beginning to talk. "I need to do some things. Don't wait up."

"Where are you going?" John asked after Sherlock who had already put on his coat and started climbing down the stairs taking them two at a time.

"Out." The detective said as he straightened his scarf and walked out the door. A light snow had begun to fall outside onto the streetlamp lit street. "Taxi!" He called out raising an arm out into the road.

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She was exactly where he knew she'd be tonight. Working late as usual, she worked much too hard. Of course she was the only one there with enough brains to get it done. "Molly." He said quietly behind her.

A mousy squeak escaped her and she jumped around to see the source of the voice. When she saw who stood there she flushed a deep shade of pink. "Oh-oh Sherlock… you scared me again. Wha-What, well um, is there something you need?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." He reached into his pocket and pulled out an invitation and handed it to her. "You're to be my date."

"Wha-what?" Of all the times Molly had created this moment in her head a thousand times over. Not once did she ever think it would actually happen. She tried to contain her happiness and the urge to squeal in front of him but remaining calm was making her feel a little light-headed.

"I need to investigate a potential child abductor, he'll be attending the same gala. I needed a date to make me seem less obvious."

Molly's heart dropped a bit but she took it, a fake date with Sherlock was certainly better than no date with Sherlock. "I-I don't have anything to wear though." She gave him a small smile before averting her gaze again.

"Oh don't worry about that." He turned to look at the desk by the door, a dress bag laid across the top of it. "I've gotten you one. I'll pick you up at 6:00 o'clock next week."

He turned around and swept out of the room stopping just as he began opening the door. "Oh, and Molly." He said turning to look at her. For once she met his gaze and did not break it, although she felt as if she were going to faint under his watchful eyes.

"Yes?" She finally managed in a timid voice.

"Do try to not work yourself to death we have a date next week."

She could have sworn that smallest glimpse of a smile met his lips but she couldn't be sure. The detective left her alone in the morgue with a quickly beating heart and a broad smile.

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_A/N: Sherlock's on to it, isn't he? Hope you guys liked it and be sure to leave a review! Happy first of December all! _


	4. The Date

_I am really sorry for the late update. Cut off was last week and I had to get in a bunch of units for school. It's winter break after Thursday so I hope to update more frequently. _

_Special thanks goes out to Beth-TauriChick, yellowflower-12, Empress of Verace, Zora Arian, ravenoak2, Rocking the Redhead, videogamelover221, and magic strikes for reviewing. It's always appreciated. _

_And without further ado, the next chapter! Hope you enjoy. _

OoOoO

Molly stood in front of the mirror examining the dress from side to side, looking for a reason to hate it. Couldn't there be one thing Sherlock Holmes was poor at? It would have been a rather simple black dress if it weren't for the bright red bow that tied beneath her bust. The only consulting detective in the world could leave his job and work in fashion if it had suited his fancy. She smiled slightly at the thought of Sherlock in a trendy little shop helping women find clothes. But he wasn't doing that; he was on his way to pick her up for their date. _Well our fake date, _she corrected. Molly was nervous even though she knew it meant nothing to him, she was a prop, a disguise, and most importantly a ticket in. She wondered if he knew how much this night means to her. Molly wasn't left to wonder about it for too long because three crisp knocks on the door signaled the detective's arrival.

"Hello Molly." Holmes announced when she had swung open the door.

Molly blushed, "He-Hello Sherlock."

He gazed intently at her for a moment, "Now that you're out of your usual, horrid wardrobe you look rather – " He glanced at his watch and noticed the time. "We're going to be late."

Molly flushed a deeper shade of red as they walked down towards the waiting cab wondering what word was going to finish that sentence.

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The cab ride was for the most part spent in silence. Sherlock had spoken rapidly for a minute, "This is of course a case and you're not to get in the way of my work. This could be dangerous, so when I tell you to leave immediately you are to do just that. Lestrade will be showing up in two hours unless I alert him otherwise. You are to leave with him when he arrives if I have not already asked you to make yourself sparse. He will take you back to your flat and his least daft officer will watch you. Do not leave your flat and tell no one where you were tonight. Don't draw attention to yourself, do not distract me, and do not annoy me."

"I understand." Molly said quietly, she understood that this was to be strictly business and nothing else. They fell back into silence.

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When the cab pulled up Sherlock had gotten out quickly to hold the door open for Molly. It was to start immediately. As she climbed out he gave her a warm smile that was very unlike him. Sherlock rested his hand on her back and she jumped at bit at his touch. As he guided her into the gala he leaned in to her and whispered, "Relax, you're too tense." Just before Sherlock pulled away he kissed her on the cheek and laughed. Molly was alarmed at how normal he could be if he tried. But the demeaning, condescending, brilliant Sherlock Holmes was buried somewhere deep inside the one she was with now. Despite how much she enjoyed his attention, part of her wished she could spend the evening with Sherlock, not his facsimile.

Music played gently behind the dull noise of chatter. Women dressed elegantly sat tall and poised on the chairs, men in suits and tuxedos flattering them and drinking. "How am I supposed to act naturally in a place like this?" Molly said under her breath. She hadn't intended Sherlock to hear but he hears everything.

"Just follow my lead." He assured her and his grip on her waist tightened slightly as he guided her over to the dance floor. He turned to face her and he offered his hand.

"Sherlock, I don't know how to dance." Molly told him quietly.

"Give me your hand." She placed it on top of his; he rested his other on the small of her back and pulled her in closer to him. Molly couldn't remember how to breathe; they stood so close to each other now. He took a step slowly instructing Molly which feet to step with in response. She slipped up several times resulting in her stepping on his foot. Molly's face became a deep scarlet. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm lousy at this."

"You're lousy because you aren't relaxing and you're thinking too much." He pulled her in again, closer this time and swept her off onto the floor again. "Look up at me. Not at your feet, Molly."

She looked up at him; his eyes were watching her carefully. Molly felt dizzy under his gaze. "Don't think about the steps, just let me lead you." He now looked over her shoulder and out into the crowds of people. He was looking for their man. Without his ice blue eyes on her she managed to relax a little and follow his steps more naturally. The music ended and he came to a stop, his hand still lingering on her back. Couples around them started looking back at them and smiling. "Why are they looking at us?" Molly asked nervously.

"Not sure."

A plump woman with rosy cheeks smiled broadly at them. "Well, go on then." She urged cheerily.

"Sorry, what?" Molly replied.

"You lot aren't just going to stand under the mistletoe and not kiss are you?"

Sherlock and Molly looked up to see green leaves with little white berries hanging from a red ribbon that matched the one on Molly's dress. Sherlock chuckled and said a quiet, "Oh." Molly's heart raced, would he kiss her just to stay in character? Her question was answered.

Sherlock wrapped his arm further around her waist, pulling her in tightly. Molly noticed only her dress and his suit now separated them. His free hand came and rested on the back of her neck and he leaned in to kiss her. Molly stood completely paralyzed for a minute, unable to fully register what was happening. His hand reached up into her hair and she returned the kiss. He pulled away smiling slightly, Molly looked at it, realizing it wasn't his fake smile he had been using all day. It wasn't the one he flashed grieving wives in turn for information. It wasn't even the one he used on her to see bodies. Instead, it was that small, undeniably happy grin that was exclusively used in small moments that actually made the icy detective happy. When John said something amusing, or when Sherlock poked fun at Mycroft, and apparently kissing Molly under the mistletoe.

Molly however had flushed deeply at the kiss and she averted her eyes from his. Sherlock took her hand and guided her over to an unused room. He paced back in forth for a minute, his eyes closed. Needing quiet to go to his mind palace and sort out all the information he had gotten tonight, something kept muddling up his thoughts though, and that something was named Molly.

"I'm-I'm sorry." Molly muttered.

"Sorry?" Sherlock asked genuinely confused before cluing in. A look of realization draped over his features. "Oh. No, don't be sorry. It's not your fault we ended up under the mistletoe." She still looked upset to him. "Besides, I rather enjoyed it." He added in a deep purr.

She looked up at him in shock but he had begun to relay everything he knew to her. "I saw him. I doubt you noticed. He was in the grey suit dancing with the woman in a dark blue dress. I recognized him eventually from the distinct pattern of wrinkles around his eyes. He's definitely the same man from the mall. I have a feeling he recognized who I was as well, considering his glances at me and his nervous demeanor tonight."

Molly just nodded unsure of what he wanted her to say. "Let's go have a chat with him." Sherlock said leaving the room. He stopped looking back to Molly. "Go now, wait outside for Lestrade."

"I want to see this through." Molly replied with a sudden bout of confidence.

"It might be dangerous. You agreed, you said you'd leave when I asked you too."

"It's not dangerous though, it's some posh party."

Sherlock reached a hand up to her cheek. His fingertips lightly traced her jawline. "Just go." He tried to keep his voice the usual deep mystery but a pleading undertone was audible.

Sherlock walked Molly to door to ensure she would get in a cab and go home. He hailed a cab and held the door open for her, acting as they did when they arrived minus the cordial attitude. Molly looked from him to the building, unknowing what the night's events had in store. She walked up to him and placed her hands on his shoulders delicately; standing up on her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. "Don't do something stupid and get yourself killed, yeah?" She told him. His emotionless expression never faltered as she sat down in the cab and he closed the door on her. Molly worried all night.

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_A/N: Oh, is this a more human side of Sherlock beginning to arise? Anyway, apologies again for the late update. I hope to update again really soon, so keep in tune. Hope you liked the chapter and be sure to review below. _

_Thanks lovelies. _


	5. The Day Following

_I'm so sorry for the long wait. I had expected to be done by now but Christmas turned out to be a busy time. I hope you all had wonderful holidays and are ready to go back to school or work, unless you already have. I'll try to finish this up as soon as possible. _

_Kind of on the ball right now so not a lot of time to thank all the reviewers, but you are all lovely and thank you for the kind words. That's what brought me back here eventually so please keep it up. _

_Again, sorry for the long wait. I hope you enjoy -E_

* * *

Molly awoke from a particularly restless night. Tired and achy she immediately checked her phone in hopes of some kind of message from Sherlock. She sent one off, "Everything went okay? M"

Molly was worried, anything could have happened. In fact she worried a lot when he went off to cases. He seemed incapable of realizing a dangerous situation for himself. Always running into them headfirst. She didn't want him to get hurt and never come back to the morgue in Bart's to ask her for a body. Or ask her to come on some kind of wild goose chase. And least of all she didn't want to have to come into work and perform a post mortem on him.

A knock on the door, she opened it and looked through the open crack. Sherlock stood there in the same suit from last night, underneath his signature coat and scarf. Molly immediately felt a pang of embarrassment standing in front of him in nothing but her father's old t-shirt and a pair of shorts. She stared at the red line of thread on his coat's lapel and hoped she wasn't turning the same colour. "Hello, Molly." He announced. Without asking he stepped into her flat and fell on to her couch in an ungraceful manner.

"Sherlock, what are you doing here?" Molly asked nervously.

He looked up at her then began. "After you left and Lestrade arrived we took him into a room. He, of course, knew exactly what we were going to ask him about. Denied it, naturally. Clearly lying, he closed off his body movement, averted eyes and refused to meet my gaze, perspiration increased, muscles in his jaw tightened. Clearly he was under stress."

"He's in jail then?"

"No."

"No?"

"He got away."

Molly was beginning to get frustrated. She gave a stern look. "We told him we were going to have to bring him in for questioning and he fled. We tried to run after him but he," Sherlock stopped, clearly choosing his words carefully. "He just disappeared."

Holding back a grin she asked, "But how does someone disappear?"

Sherlock gave her an annoyed look. He knew she was teasing him. He hated how everyone took so much pleasure in it when he couldn't solve a case or he got stumped. According to John it made him more human. Personally, he thought that it made him sloppy and he couldn't afford to be sloppy. John and him had gotten into a fight that morning. John wasn't happy at how long it was taking Sherlock to solve it.

"_It takes time." Sherlock had retaliated. _

_ "How much time? Sherlock these are children. Actual little children." John's frustration was clear in his tone. _

_ "I can't make it go any faster."_

_ "Are you even trying? For God's sake Sherlock, their parents are driving themselves half mad because their babies are gone. Can't you show some morsel of human compassion." _

_ "No, John. As you like to inform me, I don't have a heart." _

But that wasn't quite true. Sherlock knew he had a heart. He just didn't express it in the same way that John would like him too. There were things he cared for. He cared for John, his best friend. He cared for Mrs. Hudson, who treated him more like a son than his own mother. He cared for Lestrade, who actually took the time to listen to him. But the one person he tried to deny, ignore, push off, was Molly. He noticed his feelings for her and in turn he pushed them off like they were nothing. Sherlock even began to treat her worse to over compensate for his betraying mind. Molly had an unrequited love for Sherlock; she was very patient and very kind. Somewhere in his mind he knew that if anything catastrophic were to happen to him, Molly would be the only one left asking if he was okay. He watched her now, as she made a cup of his coffee, black with two sugars and perfect every time. Under her baggy shirt he could make out curves that were otherwise lost under her usual wardrobe. Kissing her was the best part of the evening; it made losing their suspect just a little more bearable. He shook the thoughts from his mind as she handed him his cup and gave him an odd, searching look. He took a long sip from his coffee; the rich taste flooded his mouth and awakened his senses. He had just begun stringing all his thoughts together again when Molly spoke, "Sherlock, we could always just go back to the mall."


End file.
